


Down the Rabbit Hole

by surena_13



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol accompanies Daryl on a hunting trip and things don't go quite as planned. Set between season 3 and 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingstonmcbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstonmcbride/gifts).



> Prompt: Carol is injured (not badly) and Daryl has to take care of her.  
> Disclaimer: not mine  
> A/N: A huge thank you to Caroline whose prompts helped me to actually write this thing

She hated the forest. Well, that was a lie, she had always loved the forest, but right now she was cursing it to hell, it and all its well-hidden rabbit holes, one of which she obviously hadn’t noticed. One minute she was walking and the next, her right foot got stuck and before she knew it, the ground was approaching far too fast. She had tried to stop herself from getting a mouth full of dirt, but in doing so, she had grabbed on to the nearest bush, which had thorns. Of course it had. A split second before she hit the ground, she noticed the rock. She really hated the forest.

 

The blackness only lasted for a few moments, until she heard Daryl’s voice calling her name. Carol blinked slowly and tried to push herself up, but had to stop herself when a sharp pain shot through her right hand and she groaned. Her head was throbbing and her ankle didn’t feel right at all. She felt like a massive idiot. People were getting hurt fighting the undead or the living and she had to go and trip because of a rabbit hole.

 

“You okay?” Daryl asked, dropping his crossbow beside her so he could carefully take hold of her arms as he helped her into a sitting position, his hands providing much needed support. When she focused on his face, there was a worried look in his eyes.

 

“I’m fine. Ish,” she replied as she touched her forehead with her uninjured hand and hissed when she came across the spot where she had hit the rock. That was going to hurt for a couple of days. Her fingers were red when she looked at them. Okay, maybe a bit longer than a couple of days. She’d be lucky if she didn’t have a concussion. At least she had experience with those, so she knew how to deal with them.

 

“What happened?” She tried not to act surprised when he placed his fingers under her chin and looked at the cut on her forehead. It always felt a little strange to be touched by him, especially so tenderly. That wasn’t what Daryl did. He nudged your arm or bumped your shoulder with his. He didn’t do gentle touches, that wasn’t him. And yet, his fingers under her chin were almost like a caress.

 

“Would you believe if I said I won a fight with a walker?” she tried as a very weak attempt at levity. When his only reaction was to frown and pull back his hand, waiting not so patiently for the real story, she sighed and looked down at her hands, blood welling up from the deep scratches in her right palm. “My foot got stuck in a rabbit hole and I fell. I prefer the first version though."

 

"I don't," he muttered quietly, gently taking her wounded hand in his own so he could inspect the damage. She knew what he meant, knew that it was preferable that she had injured herself in something innocent and clumsy rather that during a life-threatening situation. Just like she couldn't bear to lose him, the thought of losing her terrified him. She had seen the Cherokee rose on her empty grave.

 

With a piece of cloth that he somehow always carried with him, he carefully got rid of the blood on her hand before he inspected her scratches, probably checking if any thorns were stuck in her wounds. “Doesn’t look too bad. But you had better have Hershel take a look at you when we get back.”

 

“It’s just a couple of scrapes. I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them and she almost instantly regretted them. With anyone else it might have been a way to show of strength, with the two of them it meant something completely else and they both realized it. He had seen Ed hit her, had seen the bruises on her face and arms. He had watched her endure it. She wondered if that was when he had started to feel protective towards her, when he recognized that she was like him.

 

Carol had seen the scars back on Hershel’s farm. She recognized those marks. At first it had surprised her to see Daryl Dixon of all people with scars that she was all too familiar with and then it made sense to her. It explained so much that she had wondered about. And now she felt like an even bigger idiot for bringing it up. People like them, they didn’t talk about it, not really and not with each other. They didn’t need to talk about it, they just knew.

 

“You have. Doesn’t mean you can just brush this off like it’s nothin’,” Daryl said quietly, his tone almost accusatory. They were both tougher than anyone gave them credit for, but neither of them were invincible. They still bled, they still felt pain. But no pain would ever match the one they had felt when the people they thought loved them had bruised their skin, drawn blood and broken their bones. Nothing ever hurt that much. Daryl understood that, but he also knew it was no reason to ignore serious pain.

 

“I know,” she replied, looking into his eyes, giving him a weak smile. He didn’t return it, but his expression softened. He didn’t need to say anything to comfort her. Just the right look in his eyes was enough. She had never had that kind of bond with anyone. Ed had never been like that and Sophia, well she had tried, but they had both been too scared, they had both been prisoners of their own lives. What she and Daryl had, it was rare, it was wonderful and even a little bit scary, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him now.

 

His hand returned to her face, tilting her head back a little so he could wipe away the blood on her forehead and the few drops that had started to run down the side of her face. She continued to look at him, the concentration on his face as he tried not to hurt her. He cared for her, she could see it plain as day. She had already known this, of course, with everything he had done for her, but it was still strange to see it so clearly.

 

The new people at the prison had seen it as well. One of those young girls, Mika, had asked her whether Daryl was her husband. For a moment she had been too astounded to form an answer. They liked each other in a way that went further than any regular friendship, sure. And they spent a lot of time together, but she hadn’t realized it came off as a romantic relationship to outsiders. She hadn’t told Daryl about that little incident. He’d scoff and roll his eyes and then distance himself from her for a day or two. She didn’t want that.

 

Daryl bit the inside of his lip as he worked around the cut, his eyes narrowed. Carol had to suppress another smile. She wondered if he knew he did that when he was concentrating or worried or trying to hide his emotions. It was an adorable habit, really, one that she wasn’t going to mention to him, because then he would surely stop doing it.

 

“I guess this officially makes me a lousy hunting partner,” Carol stated when he pulled back an stuck the bloodied piece of cloth in his back pocket. He snorted and stood up, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. She had never asked him how he even came possession of that crossbow or how he came to be so good at it. His skill with that weapon was extraordinary.

 

“Nah, just a clumsy one. Come on.” He held out his hand for her and Carol chuckled, taking his hand so he could pull her up. Clumsy might be an understatement this time.

 

She had barely found her footing when a sharp pain shot through her foot and up her leg. She had forgotten about her ankle. She gasped and almost collapsed. The only that stopped her from falling down again was Daryl. He had his arms around her waist before she had fully realized what was happening, steadying her, allowing her to keep her weight off her injured leg as she tried to find balance.

 

She had grabbed his vest with her left hand and let her head rest against his shoulder as she tried to control her breathing, waiting for the pain to subside. She had forgotten how much a twisted ankle could hurt, especially when she forgot she had it and put her full weight on it.

 

“You okay?” Daryl asked her again when she the pain had ebbed away some and she had lessened the tight grip she had had on his vest which had caused the leather to crumple. She stared at it for a moment before she looked up at him, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was in his arms. His hands were on his waist and she was pressed up against his body. She had never been this close to him unless she counted the time he had carried her out of the tombs, which she didn’t because she had barely been conscious.

 

“Not as okay as I would like to be apparently. I think I twisted my ankle,” Carol replied, wondering how long it was going to take him to realize he was holding her and then suddenly pull back the way he usually did whenever they got close, whether it be physically or emotionally. Being truly close to him was almost like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he was getting better at it and she was giving him all the time he needed.

 

Carol allowed her hand to wander down his arm, feeling the muscles tense underneath her palm, but he didn’t step back. He just stood there, an unreadable expression on his face, his grip on her waist tightening marginally. Daryl was so awkward when it came to emotional and physical closeness, that it made her wonder if he had ever been close to anyone in his life, anyone other than Merle and even with Merle there had been a distance.

 

She wondered if, other than family, he had ever loved someone.

 

“Dunno much about twisted ankles. We should get you back to the prison, have you checked out.” She nodded and fully expected him to take a few steps back. Instead, much to her shock, she suddenly found herself lifted up from the ground and into his arms. Too surprised to react properly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked at him, her eyes wide and heart beating a lot faster than it should.

 

“What are you doing? Put me down!”

 

“You ain’t walking back to the prison,” Daryl said simply as if that were enough of an explanation for him picking her up and carrying her all the way to the prison. It was ridiculous even if he had lifted her like she weighed nothing. They weren’t exactly far from their home, but it was too far for him to carry her. And some people at the prison would have a field day watching her in Daryl’s arms.

 

“And you can’t carry me there. I’m too heavy. Just support me and I’ll limp back.” He rolled his eyes at her words, but he carefully put her feet back on the ground, keeping one arm wrapped her torso, so she could lean on him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Fine. If that ankle gets any worse, it ain’t my fault.” Carol could have sworn he muttered something along the lines of ‘damn stubborn woman’ under his breath and she chuckled. Another thing they had in common. She was beginning to see why some of the newcomers in the prison thought they were more than friends. Perhaps they really were. They just weren’t acting on it yet, not in the way people were speculating.

 

“I promise I won’t hold it against you,” she said teasingly and she knew that if she hadn’t been leaning on him, he would have nudged her shoulder with his. Instead he just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. She grinned at him as they slowly started moving back towards the prison. She hoped their people weren’t going to be too disappointed when they returned empty-handed. At least the trip, despite her injuries, hadn’t been a total waste. Not for the two of them. 


End file.
